


For Her

by dreamsandlove



Series: Frenchie/Kimiko [1]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: 02x04, Apologies, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Coda, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Gen, Gentleness, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Pining, Regret, Sadness, Softness, Sweetness, Tears, caressing, s2ep4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsandlove/pseuds/dreamsandlove
Summary: Frenchie is so very sorry, but it may be too late...Kimiko may never forgive him. [Coda: s2 ep4]****EDIT:MOST typos have been fixed. There are still a few offenders, but I'll get them eventually. Lol.***++ I got some more edits corrected and sentences restructured. It’s definitely a WIP! Lol. 😆 I’ll get it scrubbed and cleaned up at some point. l
Relationships: The Female | Kimiko & The Frenchman, The Female | Kimiko/The Frenchman
Series: Frenchie/Kimiko [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931500
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84





	For Her

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time writing for this fandom. I'm usually a fluff/loving-smut writer, but Kimiko and Frenchie really hit me in my feels. I liked the pairing since season one, and season two is giving me tentative hope. Here we go! 🤞🍀
> 
> I've been off writing for a bit, so please be gentle. This is also my first time writing Coda (s2ep4).
> 
> Not betaed. All mistakes are my own. Many apologies to anyone fluent in French, hopefully it’s not too cringey. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! 💗

Frenchie is crushed, his heart broken. Kimiko won’t look at him or talk to him. He’s apologized to her, repeatedly, gently, sincerely, but to no end. Over the days, after the many failed attempts, he finally stops talking and starts doing. 

He provides Kimiko with fresh food and water, as he always has, and offers her clean clothes, which she seems to ignore. He tidies up the abysmal basement they’re stashed in, attempting to give her something nice(-ish), because he cares, and because she’s worth it. 

The rest of the team is currently out doing recon and connecting with sources. Making new plans, plotting against Vought. Frenchie’s job is to keep an eye on Kimiko and sober up. Honestly, it’s fine by him. All he seems to care about is her, and knows he’ll need a clear head if he’s to do right by the captivating woman who seems to hate him at the moment.

Each evening he asks if she’d like to sleep on the small mattress in the corner. It’s not much, but the blankets are soft and clean (anything has to be more comfortable than sleeping on the concrete floor under that table). She never acknowledges him, not so much as a glance. Resigned, he sighs and lies down on the couch, not wanting to be in the way if she chooses to move to the glorified pallet at some point. 

Frenchie spends considerable time trying to make the bathroom less grimy. There’s a filthy industrial sink and an even more horrifying toilet. He sets to task making it better, cleaner...for her. He gets an old lamp set up in there, since the fluorescent ceiling light often flickers off/on, unreliable at best. He’s able to procure several clean towels, washcloths, and some travel sized shampoos from a local hotel. Sometimes it’s good to have odd acquaintances who don’t ask many questions. Frenchie has chosen soap, shampoo and conditioner with mild scents. Not sure what Kimiko will want—if she’ll want anything at all—but he’s determined to provide for her a semblance of choice nonetheless. He places everything (including a small comb) neatly on a few plastic milk crates he’s stacked on top of one another to create the allusion of shelving. Frenchie knows Kimiko will have to awkwardly wash herself with only the sink as an option, so he tries to offer as much comfort as possible. 

Though Kimiko hasn’t spoken a word to him, not even an utterance— not a grunt or growl—she’s clearly eating. The plates of food he’s left for her are empty, as are the myriad of water bottles and snacks he replenishes. 

It’s been six days since he tried to kiss her. Six days since she lost her brother. Six days since his heart shattered—possibly irrevocably—and downing thaw six days since he’s determined there’s nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for Kimiko. He knows his thoughts and feelings don’t make any logical sense. He hasn’t known her long—doesn’t really know her at all—but every part of him clamors for her, clamors that he _sees_ her, that he looks after her, tends to her. Every aspect of him _knows_ that Kimiko is important to him, that he must do everything in his power to protect her, keep her safe, and support her in all things. 

For some unknown reason Frenchie is drawn to Kimiko. There’s no shadow of a doubt that he trusts her, his unconditional acceptance of who she is, in what she’s capable of...and in what she means to him. He’s never before believed in anybody like this, but there’s a bone deep sense of knowing he’ll spend the rest of his life working to earn the privilege of being there for her. Earning her trust, her knowing he has her back (in all things), and that she can depend on him no matter what. He feels compelled to give to her, to create for her. Driven to forge weapons and armor that will allow Kimiko to use her powers as she sees fit, tools to enhance her gifts, while maximizing his engineering knowledge and tactile know how to ensure her safety and success. 

_For her._

For nearly a week, in between cooking, cleaning, building weaponry and body armor, he sits next to her on the cold, damp concrete floor. Just waiting. Each time he makes it clear to her what he’s doing, his intent. 

“Mon couer, I’m just going to sit here for a moment, okay? All you have to do is raise your hand and I’ll move away. Pour je serai patie [‘poof, I’ll be gone’].”   
  


He’s met with silence and the complete lack of acknowledgement he’s come to expect. Taking a breath, not with exasperation, but with compassion. 

“I’m here, mon cher.” 

At first she won’t even let him near her, glaring everytime he’d get close, so he started by sitting cross legged on the concrete behind her and slightly to the side. Ensuring she knew his presence was there, but not caging her in. Each day he would scoot a teeny bit closer—a centimeter at a time—just to share space with her. 

Today he’s determined to try something new. Heart racing, skin sheened in sweat, and despite being a career criminal/expert arms dealer/overall badass, he’s nervous. He slowly approaches Kimiko, keeping his body relaxed, tone even as he speaks. 

“Kimiko,” her name reverent on his lips, “would you like to change your clothes?”

No answer. He takes a breath.

“Those clothes must be uncomfortable, no? I have new garments for you in the bathroom and I can wash the ones you’re wearing.”

He waits a beat.

“It’s up to you, mon couer. I just want you to know I’m here...to help...any way I can.” 

They sit there, the only sounds he hears is the pounding of his own heart and the inane announcer on the television rambling on about squirrels and how they forage for acorns. Frenchie’s focus is only on Kimiko, while he’s looking straight ahead he’s keenly aware of her breathing, and waiting for any movement or gesture.

  
Faster than he would have expected she bolts from under the table, instinctively he chases after her. Hoping against hope she isn’t running away from him, out the door, gone forever. Frenchie stops dead in his tracks when he sees her standing in the bathroom, door wide open. 

She’s facing the sink, head down, not moving. Frenchie isn’t sure what to do, so he waits, stock still, not wanting to frighten her. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifts her head, turning her eyes toward him. 

_She’s looking at me!_

Body flushing hot—not from arousal—he experiences a sliver of happiness and excitement. She’s acknowledging him. 

Maybe, just maybe he hasn’t fucked things up beyond all measure. 

Kimiko blinks a couple of times, and Frenchie takes a chance. His voice sounding unsteady, even to his own ears. 

“D-do you want me to help, mon couer?”

Merely blinking, she doesn’t take her eyes from his. Cautiously walking toward her, he reaches for the faucet knobs—careful not to touch her—as he gets the water flowing to a steady stream of warmth. 

Looking up at her, his breath stutters.

“It’s safe now, cherie. Not too hot; not too cold.”

Cocking his head toward the sink.

“Go ahead.” 

She doesn’t move a muscle and Frenchie’s body is flooded with confusion. Has he done something wrong, misread the situation? Wanting to ask her, he refrains, knowing she sometimes becomes frustrated by their communication barrier. 

Mind turning over option after option, looking at her (her gaze unwavering), he finally sees it. A tiny micro-expression, a thin crease between her eyebrows that appears and disappears in the blink of an eye. The action so fleeting, he would’ve missed it had he not been so focused. 

Startled, he takes a leap of faith. 

“W-would you like me to help you? Wash your hands?” 

Kimiko inhales deeply and exhales deliberately. 

“Okay, mon couer, I’m going to put my hands on yours and wash them. I’ll be very gentle. If you want me to stop at any time just squeeze my fingers and I’ll let go immediately and back away. Okay?” 

The same deep breath is the only response he receives. Tentatively Frenchie takes both of her hands in his. Glancing up to see any signs of distress, he tenderly moves their hands under the water and then focuses his attention on her blood stained skin. 

He uses both the unscented bar of soap and the liquid soap to massage her hands, using his thumbs to create small circles. Paying close attention to each crevice, each crease, each small line. He rinses them and starts again. The blood in her cuticles and under her nails is stubbornly set, but Frenchie is a man of patience...all the time in the world for Kimiko. 

“Mon cherie, I will need to use the washcloth to get some of the blood and dirt off. Maybe even the spare toothbrush to get it out from under the finger nails.”

He looks up at her, she blinks, and he proceeds. 

Meticulously, he works to clean her nails, taking care to ensure his movements are efficient in their gentleness. After several moments he’s satisfied with his work and uses another small towel to pat her hands dry. 

“Looks good, no?” 

He gives her a soft smile as she examines her hands and gives a curt nod.

Frenchie isn’t sure he’s ever felt more proud of himself than in this moment, warmth blooming in his chest. 

“There are more clean towels here and new clothes.”

Gesturing to the stacked crates.

“When you’re done just leave everything on the floor and I’ll come clean it up for you.” 

Silence. 

He moves to pick up the dirty towels, turning, when she lightly places her hand on his shoulder. Like a deer caught in the headlights he freezes, hesitantly turning toward her. That tiny crease at the bridge of her nose has returned, and he is having a tough time thinking past the sound of the blood roaring in his ears. 

_What does she want? Merde [‘Fuck’]! Don’t fuck this up asshole!_

Swallowing a couple of times, clearing his throat.

“W-would you like me to stay? T-to help you?”

She merely blinks back at him. Immediately placing the dirty items back on the floor he steps closer to her. 

“Kimiko, I will need to touch you to help you clean. You understand?”

Her slight nod encourages him to continue.

“I have a plan to help wash your hair, but then you’ll have to remove your clothes so I can reach other places.”

Gulping at her placid face he presses on.

“You can keep on your undergarments, I can just clean everything else. Oui? Do I have your permission to do so, mon coeur?”

Sighing she nods. Frenchie can feel his body begin to shake from the inside out, like an autonomic response to an intense situation or a strong emotion. 

“Okay, I’ll return in a moment. I’m going to get a couple of things.”

He moves quickly, taking inventory if they’ll need anything else. Satisfied, he returns to the bathroom. Looking at Kimiko, no signs of concern visible, he gets to work.

He places a metal chair, the back facing the sink, on the tiled floor. 

“Please come sit here. You can lean your head back while I wash and rinse your hair.”

Holding up the large cup he snagged from their kitchen area. 

Without a word she moves to sit, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Frenchie doesn’t hesitate, treasuring the small boon. She trusts him to help her in this and he won’t let her down. 

Not having turned the water off from before, he gently places her hair in the sink, admiring the long dark strands. Filling the large cup, he pours warm water over the crown of her head, watching the clear liquid turn pink as it swirls down the drain. He repeats the action a few more times, gingerly carding his fingers through her long locks, dislodging any pieces of debris. Using copious amounts of shampoo he soaps her dark tresses, using the same methodical process to rinse the suds out. He constantly glances at Kimiko’s relaxed face, reveling at the small sighs she occasionally lets loose. Finishing up with the conditioner, he deftly runs his fingers through her hair, using the comb to get out the last of the tangles. He rinses it until all the water runs clean and clear. Snagging another towel he pats and dries her hair, gently helping her sit up as she opens her eyes.

“All done, mon couer. Not so bad, you see? Your hair is so soft.”

He runs his fingers through the jet black, almost blue, strands.

“Maybe I can braid it for you later, if you want.”

Her dark orbs just watch him. He chuckles.

“I used to have long hair. Had to learn how to keep it out of my eyes and keep it from catching fire while I was working.”

Her eyes seem to soften a little, and Frenchie’s heart melts. Such a simple gesture that means so much. 

“Are you ready, Kimiko? For me to help with t-the rest?”

Time ticks by, no movement, no sound. An infinitesimal nod from the incredible woman before him, and he sets to work. 

“I think this will be easier if you stand.”

He moves the chair out of the way so she can move closer to the sink. 

“Do you want me to help—“

She moves, lifting her filthy shirt off and kicking her torn pants to the side. She’s standing there in a grey dingy bra and a pair of underwear (both likely white at some point), exposed skin spotted with dried blood and dirt, and looking like the most beautiful creature Frenchie has ever seen. Even though he’s attracted to her, has been since the moment they met, he’s taken aback by her exquisite features and the pure knowledge that there’s insurmountable power thrumming through her petite body. He’s in awe, like gazing at a rare piece of art or swept away by the stunning precision of nature. 

Realizing he’s staring, not wanting her to think he’s being a creep, he explains the plan. 

“I will fill the sink with soapy water, wipe your skin down, then use clean water and a clean cloth to wipe you dry. Oui?” 

A nod and he begins. Starting with the delicate skin on her face, he makes sure his touch is light and easy. With each swipe of the cloth he murmurs words of sweetness, not realizing he’s speaking French (rather than English). 

“So lovely...there you are...so good to see you...I’ve missed you...”

Seeming to understand him, Kimiko doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t indicate for him to stop either. So as he continues down the length of her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms and across her chest and back, the words of praise flow from his lips.

“Ah...look at that tiny freckle that was hiding...what a surprise...so many scars...you are a warrior no?...so strong...a survivor...”

Deftly wiping her torso, lower back, thighs and legs he does not linger but neither does he neglect any area either. Taking care to respect all aspects of her body and never encroaching on her covered parts. Not once does she flinch from his touch. 

_Maybe she’s starting to trust me a bit?_

“You’re incredible...so powerful...amazing...such a gift...”

He finishes up with the tops of her feet and toes, standing and smiling, her face looking less tense. 

“I will take these dirty things to the washer. There are clean items for you to wear and a new toothbrush on the crates.”

He points.

“Come out when you’re ready. I’ll make you something to eat.”

She nods and he grins, gathering the laundry to leave the bathroom and shut the door behind him. 

Loading the machine, he smiles to himself. 

_She let me care for her. She trusted me in this._

These are all things he would’ve taken for granted three months ago (from anyone else), but suddenly theses gestures are more important to him than any mission or transaction he’s ever completed. 

He turns when he hears the door open. She’s standing there in an oversized T-shirt and light grey sweatpants, looking soft and relaxed. 

“Feeling better, mon couer?”

She nods and sits at the small kitchen table. He heads over and quickly makes them both sandwiches. 

“I’m sorry it’s not better. Can’t cook a decent meal in this kitchen. C'est horrible [‘it is awful’]! I promise I’ll make you something worthy once we’re in a better place.” 

His eyes widen when he realizes what he’s just said. Making an assumption she will stay with him for any period of time, after everything that’s happened. He’s about to clarify when she picks up her sandwich and starts eating. Forgoing a potentially painful conversation he rustles up a bottle of water and a red apple for her to have with her meal. 

“I’ll be right back.”

He strides into the bathroom to grab her undergarments, planning to add them to the wash, but she’s put them in the trash can. No problem. He grabs the chair and the cup he left in there earlier. 

He returns to her, half of the sandwich gone as she bites into the apple. 

“I always liked the green ones myself. The taste less sweet, more tart, you know?”

She takes another bite and he grins.

“I was thinking, I didn’t get to the bottom of your feet. I can clean and massage them for you, if you’d like?”

Kimiko continues to eyeing him, taking a couple more bites she nods. 

“Okay, I think it would best if you sit on the couch. I’ll get a small pan ready to let your feet to soak. Come over when you are ready.”

He fills a small metal pan with warm soapy water and grabs two dish towels. He also gets a small tube of lotion for the massage. 

She wordlessly moves to sit on the couch, hiking her sweatpants to just below her knees, placing each foot in the water. Frenchie kneels before her, running his fingers and the pads of his thumbs over the soles of her feet. Wiping away the grit and dark marks, steady at the task at hand. He finishes washing them and patting each one dry. 

“I’ll be just a moment.” 

He dumps the water in the sink and flings the used towels near the running washing machine. Returning to the spot at her feet, he puts a dollop of lotion in his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm the lubricant and looks at Kimiko. She raises one foot as he begins pressing his fingers into the muscles and delicate flesh. Rubbing deliberate strokes and occasional circles. He works midway up her calf, just to where her sweat pants are lifted, and then back down to her ankle and foot. Taking care with each toe, gently tugging and stretching. Carefully placing her foot on the ground, he moves to the other leg, repeating the exact same process. 

Settling back on his haunches he looks up into deep dark eyes staring back at him. 

“Better, mon couer?”

A barely perceptible curve to the side of her mouth, and knows he’s a goner, done, fully mesmerized.

“Good. Would you like to rest now?”

Pointing to the clean pallet/mattress in the corner? To his surprise, she nods. 

“Let me clean up, so I won’t make any noise while you sleep, and then I’ll turn out the lights.” 

He watches her move to the far side of the room, lie down (her back to the wall), thin blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She tracks him as he moves efficiently around the room, not wanting to disturb or delay her chance to sleep. Done in about five minutes, he secures the doors, casually holds a glock in one hand, cell phone in the other. 

“I will be right here, Kimiko.”

Gesturing to the couch.

“I will make sure you’re safe.”

She closes her eyes and he turns off the light. 

Sitting on the couch, in the dark—the ambient light from the tv (volume off) causing the small space to glow blue—Frenchie replays his day with Kimiko. Each moment a gift, a treasure. He’s relieved and hopeful, more than he has any right to be. He’s overcome with the power of the interactions they’ve shared over the last few hours.

He’s not stupid enough to believe she fully trusts him or even cares for him (romantically or platonically), but caring _for her_ , tending to her, has filled him with sensations of purpose and rightness. He can’t deny it or suppress it, his eyes begin to sting, brimming with tears. He places the gun on the cushion next to him and his cell in his pocket. Silently he lets the tears roll down his cheeks, wiping them with the backs of his hands. 

He’s grateful for this day. Grateful the rest of the team is off doing other things this week, giving him time to focus on Kimiko. Focusing on her immediate needs, but also considering what armor might work best for her, to keep her safe and agile when she fights. Creating weapons easy for her to carry and that will work fluidly with her skill set. 

Frenchie is so caught up in his head he almost misses the tiny creak of sound. He’s let his guard down and now someone is close to him. He won’t be able to move fast enough to grab the gun, so he decides on the only course of action. 

_I will kill them with my bare hands before I let them near mon couer._

He tenses, ready to fight when he smells her unique scent. Kimiko’s hand reaches for him, touching his face. Frenchie freezes, he’s more afraid now than he was mere seconds ago. Adrenaline pulsing through him as her warm skin rests on his lightly stubbled cheek. He looks up to see her staring at him, face open. Using her thumb to wipe away one of his tears, she gently places that same hand in one of his. Her fingers curling over his as she steps back, pulling him up with her. Heart thundering, he doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he'll follow her into the depths of hell, so he’s only unconcerned about what she wants, that she wants him. 

Kimiko leans down and lies on the bed, same position as before, but this time she brings Frenchie down with her.

They are face to face on the tiny mattress, bodies not touching, except for their clasped hands. He can’t help it, his eyes continue to well with relief, hope, sorrow, longing. She blinks at him as she pulls the thin blanket up to their waists. 

He whispers in the dark. 

“Let me set the alarms.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket, finishes his task and puts it on the ground next to them. Rolling back over, he offers her his hand. She hesitates for only a beat before twining their fingers together again. 

Pulling him closer, Kimiko slides her leg between his thighs, keeping their bodies only inches apart. 

He can’t stop looking at her, at how she looks at him, and how he hopes she will always look at him this way. Eyes still raw with emotion, a rogue tear escapes, falling across his nose; she uses her free hand to wipe the wetness away. Leaving that hand to rest on the side of his face as she leans her head in. Forehead to forehead, too close to really see, she closes her eyes and so does he. 

Wrapped in her warmth, her forgiveness, in the grace she’s giving him, he repeats the same words over and over. 

“I’m sorry...je suis desole...I’m sorry...” 

This is his mantra to her, his devotion, his vow to keep her safe, to protect her. His solemn promise to help avenge her brother’s death, to give her all that he is. 

They stay like long into the night, his words coming slower and slower, his voice drifting off. Right before he falls asleep, fully succumbing to exhaustion and fatigue, he swears his tired mind hears a barely audible, hoarse whisper of feminine breath. 

“Oui.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💗
> 
> Please feel free to leave feedback or make a request/suggestion. 😊


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